This is a collection of one-shots that takes place in my Traveler Trilogy series.
In the Traveler Trilogy, Arthur does not die and is instead brought to the present day by Charles Smith and Francis Sinclair, who save his life by bringing him to a mo...
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1899, One Week Before Blackwater
"Dr. Sinclair!" exclaimed Charles. He had not seen the quirky man in months, not since first coming to this place to save a man he detested.
Arthur Morgan was, after all, a detestable man, just like the rest of them. The constant grind of pretending to like the other members of the Dutch Van Der Linde gang was exhausting, and Charles longed so, so badly to see a familiar face that he feared for his sanity if he did not contact Francis Sinclair, the only other person he knew in this dark, forsaken time in America's history. In his mind, he knew what would take place exactly one week from today. He just didn't know if he had the strength to stomach it.
Calling a meeting with Francis would help him clear his mind, he hoped. As of late, he found his thoughts turning to what he'd left behind in 2021 to come and save this savage man from an inevitable illness that he deserved.
At home in his own time waited Naomi and their comfortable ranch in Fort Wallace, Ambarino. For Naomi, no time would have passed once he returned. She would not have to miss him unless the unthinkable happened and he was killed in this time period. Charles, however, missed her every day.
He thought of her dark brown eyes every night before he went to sleep atop a threadbare blanket on the cold, hard ground every night. When he ate Pearson's usual substandard stew for dinner, he thought of her cooking, which was delightful and never lacked flavor. When he mounted Taima and looked across the plains towards the mountains in the north, he thought of her there, riding her own horse around the ranch. He would much rather be with the woman he loved than with these people.
"You look worn," Francis noted as Charles settled into the barstool next to him in the Blackwater Saloon. The cheerful piano music and laughing saloon girls in the background were in sharp contrast to the cloud that darkened Charles' soul.
"I miss Naomi," Charles said honestly, waving towards the bartender for a whiskey. "You gave up nothing to come here. I had to give up the love of my life."
Francis clenched his jaw and swirled the gin in his glass thoughtfully. "That's not entirely true," he said quietly. "I gave up a part of myself to come here. Gay men aren't exactly welcome in society at the moment. If anyone found out about me, I'd be shunned at best and lynched at worst." He took a swallow of his liquor and sighed. "Still, I empathize with you a bit. I've been seeing someone new lately, and the longer I'm gone, the more I find myself missing him."
The bartender brought Charles a glass of their cheapest whiskey, but Charles caught his eye as he retreated. "Can you leave the bottle?" he asked the bartender, taking his glass and swallowing it in one gulp.
Francis watched him thoughtfully as he played with the cold, smooth glass in his hand.
"How do you do it?" Charles asked, pouring himself more whiskey as the bartender set the bottle before him.
